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“This Friday is the Faulkner fundraising event, and he offered to take me as his plus-one.”
“He asked you on a date?” Ami asks, horrified. “Are you serious?”
She’s offended on my behalf, and while I’m grateful she has my back, and despite my thoughts initially being along the same line, I’m not sure I have another option right now.
“It’s not a date,” I protest a little too vehemently. “He basically said he’ll introduce me to a colleague of his, someone who might have a position for me. It’s networking. And a little bit of poking the bear on Dylan’s behalf, I think? He said something about knocking Evan off his pedestal.” I shrug, not exactly sure what he meant but pretty on-board with some pedestal crashing myself.
“Uh-huh,” Maggie says, smirking. “And the fact that Dylan Sharpe is sexy as hell doesn’t have anything to do with it?”
As part of my interview preparation, I learned everything I could about Dylan Sharpe and his firm. That may or may not have included showing Maggie somepictures I found of him online. To say he’s attractive is like saying the sun’s a little warm. More important to me, though, is his mind, and the man is whip-smart and a prime example of the trajectory I’d like to follow myself, working up from the ground floor to create an empire. An evening picking his brain and watching him work is a wish come true.
“Not really,” I reply, my voice surprisingly steady. “Though the idea of showing up to Evan’s fundraiser with a man who’s hotter and maybe even richer sounds… intriguing.”
“When you put it that way…” Ami says with a smirk. “Break out the petty confetti! I’m Team Raven!”
Maggie seems less sure but agrees reluctantly. “Team Raven, all the way.” But after taking a sip of her wine, she warns, “Be careful, though, okay? Play it smart and do what’s best for you, and not anyone else. I get the whole ‘get over one guy by getting under another’ vibe, but these aren’t guys from Tinder that you’re rebound fucking. You’re playing with the big dogs, and either of them, or both of them, could tank your career before it even starts.”
She’s right, obviously. And while I’m not as experienced in chess-level maneuvers as Evan or Mr. Sharpe—no,Dylan—are, I’m not completely without skills. I can attend the fundraiser, press palms to make the connections I need, show Evan that he didn’t break me, and leave with my head held high.
“Or,” Ami drawls out dramatically, “you leave Evan in your dust, make Dylan Sharpe fall in love with you, and get that big corner office in the sky.”
I shake my head. “That’s not happening. I haven’t even fully committed to going to the fundraiser yet. I told Dylan I’d let him know by tomorrow so I didn’t sound desperate.”
“You’re going,” Maggie declares, seemingly reversing her previous doubts. “What other choice do you have?”
None. I have no other options, no more interviewsscheduled, and only a couple of resumes I haven’t heard back on yet. I wouldn’t let that stop me, but a little shortcut to a possible opening at another firm is a gift I can’t refuse. Even if it comes with complications, like going to my ex’s family fundraiser on the arm of the man whose company I desperately wanted to work for.
“I’m going,” I agree. “I’ll let him know tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 4
DYLAN
Leaning back in my chair, I take a moment and ponder my office. There are floor to ceiling windows, an Italian leather sofa against one wall that allows me a view out of said windows, and a commanding desk that sweeps around in a forty-five-degree angle in order to give me multiple work areas. I could easily run my empire from one end and fuck at the other and that would be just fine. No need to throw anything off the surface or disturb a single sheet of paper. I’ve yet to enjoy that feature. Truthfully, I’ve never considered it until this moment, and I’m not entirely sure what brought the idea to mind now.
You know, my subconscious whispers slyly.
More than anything, my office drips of new wealth, because that's exactly what I have and what I am.
There’s no pedigree, no photos of well-known families. No photos at all, in fact. There are no antique bookcases with texts and expensive books. It’s rather spacious, and as my assistant putit, ‘coldly masculine but obviously expensive’. Does that describe me or my office? Probably both, which is exactly the way I like it.
The hints of my work are on my desk, the trio of monitors that can, at any time, feed me information from all the markets across the world.
But as I loosen my tie, I’m not focused on the feeds. I’m focused on the text message I got five minutes ago on my phone from Raven.I’m in. What time should I be ready on Friday? I assume you’ll pick me up?
Her pluckiness makes me smile. She’s accepting my offer, while at the same time having enough confidence in herself and her feminine charm to expect that I would go to her place instead of making her come to me.
It’s good. I like that about her.
I’m just about to message her back and tell her to give me her home address when my phone rings. The screen readsAustin Rogers, and the timing of his call would seem like a sign if I believed in that sort of thing.
In a world where ninety percent of people range from ‘flaming asshole’ to ‘minor-league irritant,’ Austin’s the rarity.
He’s a no-bullshit person. And that makes him one of my only friends.
I answer it. “Austin.”
“Dylan, what’s shaking, man?” Austin greets me, sounding pleased with himself. “How’s the world’s best money maker?”
